Part 8 (1/2)

”Just pray they ain't carrying plastic,” Pasco whispered back, ”or one of these walls will be disappearing.”

Carl wasn't the praying kind, but he knew all too soon how futile a prayer would have been. They were carrying plastic, and it was one of his walls which suddenly developed a bad case of pulverization. The only good thing was that it was not the wall beside whose parapet he was currently lying.

For a moment he thought that the charge had been too small, and that the arch which was left around the hole would hold, but the building was too old and too frail to support that kind of hope. The wall crumbled, and the parapet crackeda”and half the roof, which had been weakened already by the grenades, collapsed into the belly of the gas-station.

Carl knew that Pasco must be cursing again, but he couldn't hear a d.a.m.n thing.

If the windows had still been glazed the entire station might have come down, but they had let enough of the shockwave out to keep the three walls standing. Unfortunately, more grenades were coming over now, aimed at the parts of the roof which had survived. Carl knew that the bikers couldn't have many more to fire, but the ones which were coming over were likely to be enough.

There wasn't time for any tactical discussion. Carl jumped, with the fully-charged four-by-two in his right hand and the last spare clip of ammunition in his left. He knew that he could fire the gun one-handed if he had to, and knew that he had to.

His landing wasn't soft, but he knew how to roll, and did so, spreading the burden of the bruising so that he didn't put too much strain on his ankles. Then he came to his feet and ran, firing left and right as he went. The darkness was now his chief ally; once he was away from the building no one would know whether he was friend or foe. That would include Pascoa”and the mercy boys, if and when they ever got herea”but Pasco was only one while the bikers were many, and when the mercy boys came the remaining Atlas Boys would probably scatter in every direction.

Even so, he drew some fire before he let his own weapon go quieta”and when he finally gave all his attention to the problem of flight he could hear booted feet moving towards him.

He ran, as quickly and as lightly as he could, paying no real heed to the matter of direction. The sounds of pursuit soon dwindled, and he found reason to be earnestly glad that the Atlas boys were such steroid-freaks. Not only did it make them bigger targets; it also gave them the delicacy and discretion of bull elephants. They were slow and they were noisya”he evaded them without undue difficulty. Nor did he fall over anything, until he ran slap bang into the parked bikea”and even then he was clever enough not to damage himself more than he was already damaged.

Carl was quick to move around the bike and crouch down. It had been stripped of its weapons, but that didn't matter. It was cover, of sorts. If and when daylight came it would be as useful as a cotton-plated b.r.e.a.s.t.s.h.i.+eld, but the mercy boys would be here long before sunrise. He replaced the ammunition-clip in the gun, for the last time. Its barrel was hot enough to scorch his hand.

The grenades were no longer going off, and after one brief flutter of gunfire silence fell again. In the distance, he could hear the engine of the approaching monoplane. Pasco would undoubtedly order it in on a strafing run, but that would have only psychological valuea”the Atlas Boys would know as well as he did that the serious heat wouldn't come down until the birds caught up, and if their arithmetic was serviceable they could work out that there would be a gap of at least twenty minutes before that happened.

Carl wondered whether he ought to get aboard the sickle and try to ride out, but he decided against it. The machine probably had a smart sensor anyhow, and wouldn't start for anyone but its owner. He was as safe here as he would be further away, and he didn't want to be lost in the desert when the rescue squad arrived. He stayed where he was, and listened to the beating of his heart.

The plane came in for its first strafing run, and sprayed a lot of fire around. It was impressive enough, in its way, but Carl doubted whether it had hit anything. In fact, from his own personal point of view the main effect of the run was to cover up the sounds of someone approaching the bike. By the time Carl was able to realize that he had company the company was almost on top of hima”and it was very bad company indeed.

Even by the feeble light of the stars, Carl could see the outline of one of the most ma.s.sive of the Atlas Boysa”and although he could not see the others, he knew that the giant was not alone.

He came up from hiding without delay, and blazed away as liberally as his weapon would allow, throwing himself sideways as he did so in order to avoid being caught by any reflex-launched return fire. He fired his last shots from the ground, behind the bike's rear tyre.

There must have been three of them, in all. The man-mountain whose shadow had eclipsed the stars caught at least a dozen bullets, and he went down without a peepa”but he was so big and so slow to fall that he must have s.h.i.+elded his buddies, because both of them were able to fire back. The bike, fortunately, had a heavily-armoured fuel tank that wasn't about to blow up because of a mild bombardment by four-by-twos, but the machine fell over, and its exhaust pipe trapped Carl's foot, immobilizing him as he tried to squirm further away.

As the gunfire ceased, Carl thought for one delirious moment that he had done enough. It seemed inconceivable that either of the giants had survived the withering hail of his firea”but then a shadow descended upon him out of the sky.

Unable to roll out of the way he could only tense himself against the crus.h.i.+ng weight. Unfortunately, it transpired that tensing himself was not enough.

The Atlas Boy collapsed on top of him. He felt that he had been stomped by a dinosaur, and the wind was knocked out of him so comprehensively that although he fought hard during a second or two of blinding dizziness he simply could not slay conscious.

He knew that it had to be an auditory hallucination, but he thought he heard Pasco's voice say: ”Aw, s.h.i.+t!” just as he pa.s.sed out.

5.

Rico Andriano was not a coward.

Indeed, had he been asked, Rico would have a.s.serted that he had not even the capacity for cowardice. He liked to think of himself as a man utterly without feelings, as untouched by fear as he was by love. He would have admitted that he valued his life, to be sure, but would have argued that he did so in a fas.h.i.+on that was entirely cerebral and entirely rational. He sincerely believed that he had no instinct for survival whose recklessness might betray him, but was instead possessed of a cold determination to survive. His regard for the family, he would have said, was equally level-headed; he did not love his father, his mother or his Don, but he knew that there was no life or future outside society for any being which could be considered human.

These various a.s.sertions and arguments were mostly bulls.h.i.+t, but they had a kernel of truth in them. Rico was not a coward; and he was not a man to back down in the face of danger. Nevertheless, while he s.h.i.+elded his nightsights from the glare of Kid Zero's flashlight, and without even bothering to glance sideways at Lady Venom, he unhesitatingly threw away his gun and said, ”Take it easy, Kid.”

Rico might, if asked, have said that his reasons for doing this were based in generosity and morality, but that would have been bulls.h.i.+t too. Rico thought of himself as a human being, but sandrats like Sammy Ulinski and Kid Zero belonged, in his estimation, to some other category entirely. Neither of them, in his view, was worth an atom of moral considerationa”but he had strict orders to refrain from killing the Kid if it was humanly possible, and he took that command almost as seriously as his determination not to be killed by the Kid.

Thus, it was neither cowardice nor morality which made Rico throw away the Magnum but a mixture of professional pride and cold common sense.

Rico had been unsighted and greatly inconvenienced while Sammy Ulinski was falling and squirming after being bitten by the snake, but he had had his chance to get a clean shot at the Kid before he awoke, and had not taken it. Instead, he had allowed the Kid to s.n.a.t.c.h up the flashlight and switch it on.

Now, Sammy was silent and stilla”not so much because of the snakebite per se but because of the tape which Rico had used to stop up his mouth and because he was rigid with feara”and the Kid had his own pistol levelled. Rico knew that the Kid was a marksman, and that he was risking his own life by not killing him, but he look the risk.

He consoled himself, as he looked down the barrel of the Kid's weapon, that in addition to the Kid, there had been the snake to take into account. Rico didn't know enough about rattlers to know whether they had enough poison in reserve to deliver a second fatal bite, but he wasn't anxious to experiment. Rico told himself that even if he had succeeded in plugging the Kid before the Kid could fire off a return shot, the snake would have got him for sure. By the same token, he knew that if he had moved the pistol in order to shoot the snake, Kid Zero would probably have put him away forever.

He said again: ”Take it easy, Kida”I'm with the good guys.” Then he waited, to see whether he would get shot, or bitten, or both. He tried to stay as still as possible. Only his eyes moved, his gaze flicking back and forth between the boy and the rattler.

The boy didn't shoota”but he didn't seem anxious to open the conversation, either.

”I hope the rumours are right about you being able to control that thing,” Rico said, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to get shot. He tried to sound friendly.

”How did you find me?” inquired the Kid, without bothering to give him an answer.

”I didn't,” said Rico. ”The sandrat saw you ride in. GenTech gave us a little breathing-s.p.a.ce, but the word's well and truly out, now. I stopped this guy's friends from using the phone, but the jungle drums and smoke signals are carrying the news right now. We both got troubles, Kid, and we both have to make tracks if we're going to get away from here before the heavy mobs arrive. But we have to talk first.”

The Kid disentangled himself from his bedroll.

”I don't have to talk to anyone,” he said.

”Yes you do,” said Rico swiftly. ”Because you can't imagine what kind of heat is coming down, and I can. This is important Kida”not just a matter of life and death but the whole threatened-end-of-civilization-as-we-know-it bit. If some friends of mine hadn't stopped GenTech's point men they'd have been here before dawn; now they'll be lucky to arrive before the compet.i.tion. We bought you that time, Kid, and we can take some of the heat away, tooa”if you give us one of the discs you're carrying. Only onea”you can keep the copies. We're ent.i.tled to it, believe me.”

”Who are you?” asked Kid Zero, pulling on his boots. The nightsights had adapted now and Rico could see everything in the room with remarkable clarity. He was glad to see that the snake was quite motionless, though its stare was unwavering.

”Our people were waiting for Haycraft,” said Rico. ”When they saw what happened to him they called up all the reinforcements they could, including me. We got word that you were heading up this way, and we were told to intercepta”but we had to spread ourselves a little thin, with having to take care of the GenTech security men too. We were all given instructions to the effect that if we found you we were to play faira”but also to make you an offer you couldn't refuse. The ball's in your court, Kid. You can name your own price, and we'll do what we can to delivera”but the real issue is that if you want to hurt GenTech, you only have to give us the disc. We're the ones who can use the big secret. Another corp would only steal it, but we'll use it.”

”Are you telling me that you're a government agent?” asked the Kid sceptically.

”Not exactly,” Rico answered. ”The front-line government is in GenTech's pocket. Every senator and senior official is bought and paid for by G-T, and a healthy proportion of them are selling their favours to the opposition as well. We represent the former ownersa”the people who used to own the government before we were outbid. You could think of us as the third hand.”

”The third hand?” countered the Kid, obviously perplexed. Rico suppressed a grin. It seemed to him that his adversary was going for all the narrative hooks, and could be reeled ina”if only he didn't run out of time.

”The government's right hand never knew what its left was doing,” said Rico. ”And neither of them knew that they weren't the only two hands the organization had. You could call us the inner circle, if you

prefer a”the circle of people who didn't have to be accountable to the public.”

”The CIA?”

”Some of the old guys used to be in the CIA, but they had fingers in a lot of other pies too. None of that matters to you, Kid. All that matters is that we aren't in with the corps. In fact, we're the last effective org that hasn't been absorbed by the corps, and we're all that stands in the way of the a.s.set-stripping of America. If we lose, the whole d.a.m.n country will be carved up between GenTech, M-M and the resta”but what's on that disc gives us a chance to fight backaa chance to neutralize GenTech's ultimate weapon.”